


Deleted Scene 4: Summer Lovin, Happened so Fast

by paladin_cleric_mage



Series: I Want to Break Free [7]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paladin_cleric_mage/pseuds/paladin_cleric_mage
Summary: Corresponds to chapter 50
Series: I Want to Break Free [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1419694
Kudos: 3





	Deleted Scene 4: Summer Lovin, Happened so Fast

Crap. Dad’s waving off some couple (Steve can’t remember their names) as he pulls into the driveway. He shuts the engine and listens to their muffled laughter through the ringing in his ears. By virtue of reverberation and silence’s dizzying overwhelm, Steve knows. Another one is coming. There was a time he controlled his body, sculpted it into what a good American boy should be, but now it’s enough for his body to allow him to arrive in bed each night, where he crawls beneath his blanket, naked against the sheets because even the elastic waistband of his briefs can feel like a trap. An undignified, fleshy crab without a shell. Poke him and he sings.

Dad’s hands are in his pockets-- an easy stance, he’s been drinking-- but he watches expectantly, and when Steve finally stumbles from the driver’s seat he says, “I thought we decided you’d stay somewhere else tonight.”

Steve shuts the car door and rubs his bruised eye with the heel of one hand. “Ow, shit!”

His father tosses his head. “Oh, please. Enough with the show.”

“Show? Look, I’m just here to pack, alright? I’ll be out tomorrow, and you won’t have to see me again.”

“What, is that supposed to be some kind of threat?”

Steve shakes his head and walks past, lucky his father is too relaxed to press him.

He runs upstairs and into his room. Where will he go? His mind leaps around. Robin returns some time tomorrow, but he can’t actually move in with her. Besides, he’d have to learn sign language and his brain already can’t handle English. He thinks about Mike’s house, Nancy’s room and the odorous, depressing basement that even fresh batches of laundry can’t mask. He could crash on the couch for a night or two, keep the string bean company, but then what? What should he pack? How much can fit in his car? He hastily yanks a duffel bag from his closet and grabs at random things that slip from his trembling hands. His chest pumps quick, shallow breaths and his vision pinholes. He gives up and plops down at his desk.

There-- a pair of 3D glasses. Should he take these? They’ve sat on his desk for years. Multiple times a day he’s passed by them without thought, but that’s how it goes, isn’t it? The dead stay close, but their presence fades. They become the scuffs, nicks, and background noise. They become wallpaper and that bottle of Ibuprofen you’ve been using since your headaches started two years ago. Andrew is indistinguishable from a fork, remote, or toothbrush. Someday Nancy will be, too. He should probably tell Mike that.

But now Andrew’s back. Ever since he told Robin about him, he’s been on Steve’s mind. Mentioned this morning when he gave Dad attitude, and again in the car with Jonathan. Why can’t Steve just keep his mouth shut? Like the kids’ stupid radios, no channels are open between he and Jonathan. What did he expect, that Jonathan’s fogged mind would somehow clear and he’d realize Steve’s not the idiot everyone says he is? Jonathan’s head can’t clear. His body is thin and weak, and for what? To forget? To appear strong in the eyes of Will and El? Bullshit. There is no forgetting, and it takes more strength to face yourself unaided. He should know that. One look at Mrs. Byers and--

_Damnit!_

He rushes back downstairs and snatches up the receiver in the living room, dialling their number wrong three times before finally deferring to the phone book to get it right. It rings, and Steve shrinks against the wall to avoid being seen by company sauntering through the house from the patio to the front door.

“Steve! I was getting worried.”

“I’m sorry, I--” He cuts himself off, controlling his wavering voice. “I got distracted.”

“It’s okay. No need to apologize to me, I just-- _we_ just,” she corrects when El pipes up in the background, “want to make sure you’re safe and sound.”

“I am. I am.”

“Good,” she sighs, relieved. “You know, I hate prying like this, but I wanted to ask how it went tonight. With Jonathan? How did he seem to you?”

 _High_.

“Just, uh, pretty depressed, I guess. He was quiet.” That part’s not a lie.

“Yeah. I keep hoping he’ll connect with you, or Robin-- someone his own age, or even just _someone_ at this point, but he’s taking this so badly.”

“I would be, too.” Except he isn’t, and he didn’t. The last person he lost that he was truly close to was Andrew, and he didn’t react like Jonathan. He definitely didn’t take drugs. His mom did. He fights back tears.

“Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

“Please, don’t thank me.”

“I need to. We’ll see you soon, I hope. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He wishes her good sleep and hangs up, climbs the stairs to his room once more and collapses onto the bed. Images of Max’s arm, like the practical effects of a cheesy horror film, interrupt his vision. Tears shuddering red white and blue on Lucas’s dark cheeks. What would Andrew have done in this situation? What advice would he have? Would the brothers even get along?

Steve breathes deep, palms on his belly to feel the rise and fall.

It’s a trick question: Andrew would never be in this situation.


End file.
